


Field Certification

by Mhalachai



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:19:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mhalachai/pseuds/Mhalachai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Coulson suspected that whatever else, Natasha Romanoff showing up at his door after dark with a bottle of wine was not going to end well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Field Certification

**Author's Note:**

> What it says on the tin. This is sexitiems with hints of the spy business, and a few references to the darker side of Natasha's history.

"Agent Romanoff."

"Agent Coulson."

One hand on the door, Phil Coulson took in Natasha's stance: leaning against the porch pillar with a hand on her hip, holding a bottle of wine. Her hair was pulled off her face, wearing barely any makeup to hide the bright challenge in her eyes.

Phil held in a sigh. So much for his quiet evening watching of America's Top Model. "Would you care to come in?"

Natasha walked past Phil into the house. For all that she seemed normal, something about the way she moved made Phil think of decidedly non-work-related activities. 

He was certain that was entirely by design. 

"Can I get you a cup of coffee?" he asked politely, closing the door and re-arming the SHIELD-level alarm system. "I was just going to make myself a cup."

"And we all know not to get between you and a cup of coffee," Natasha said, her voice pitched softer than usual. Phil followed her into the living room and stood back to watch her move.

She was dressed in her usual off-duty gear: jeans, a close-fitting t-shirt under a black jacket. As he'd noted when she walked in, her makeup was light, slightly more than she wore in training. Her long red hair was pinned up off her face, free to tumble over her shoulders and back as she turned to look at him.

It was a carefully constructed guise. Natasha appeared nearly normal, with softer edges, a touch more femininity. She was always beautiful and today she wasn't trying to hide it, rather putting it on subtle display.

Knowing there was a reason, knowing it was likely going to end with more paperwork for him, Phil stayed in the doorway.

She held up the bottle of wine. "We need to talk."

"I assume this conversation can't wait until Monday," Phil said. He made his way across the living room and into the kitchen, knowing Natasha was two steps behind him. 

"This wasn't a conversation I wanted to have on SHIELD grounds," Natasha replied. She placed the bottle on the countertop, but Phil ignored the offering and plucked a bottle of his own off the wine rack. 

"What sort of conversation might that be?" Phil asked, deftly opening the bottle with a corkscrew. 

Natasha didn't answer. She moved past Phil into the kitchen, reaching up to retrieve two wine glasses from the glass-fronted cupboard. As she went up on tip-toe, standing just a fraction too close for propriety, her jacket gaped open so Phil could get a straight look at her chest.

Phil took the glasses from Natasha, not surprised when her fingers brushed against his. 

He was starting to realize where this was heading. 

He poured red wine into the two glasses, handed one to Natasha, and carried his drink into the living room. Natasha was behind him, a ghostly whisper of leather brushing over cloth. Phil sat on the sofa, waiting until Natasha had tossed her jacket on a chair and curled up beside him, before holding up his drink. "Congratulations on your first year at SHIELD," he said.

Natasha clinked her glass against his. "That's not until next week."

"One year ago today, Clint Barton refused to kill you," Phil said. He took a sip; it was a nice red he had been saving for a special occasion. Whatever was going to happen tonight, at least it was out of the ordinary. 

"That's true," Natasha said. She tilted her head back to drink, showing the fine pale line of her throat. She swallowed, smiled, swept her tongue along the red of her bottom lip. "I got Clint a houseplant; he'll see it when he gets back from Melbourne."

"Venus flytrap?" Phil guessed.

Natasha crinkled her nose. It was a completely adorable expression, so unexpected that Phil almost smiled. "No," she said. "A ficus."

The mental image of Clint Barton watering a ficus plant made Phil laugh. "That's very thoughtful."

Natasha poked his arm. "Stop teasing."

Phil took another sip of wine. "And you're on my doorstep after dark because..."

Natasha shrugged. "Do I have to have a reason?"

"You always have a reason," Phil said. He set his glass on the coffee table and settled back against the cushions. "Why are you here?"

After a moment, Natasha put her glass beside Phil's. When she sat back, she was somehow closer than she had been before. "Why are you still wearing your tie?" she asked. 

Phil ran his hand down his tie, smoothing it over his shirt. Natasha's gaze followed the movement. "I'll answer your question if you answer mine," he said.

Natasha considered this request. "I have a proposition for you," she said. 

Phil considered it a major success that he didn't sigh aloud. He didn't believe for a moment that it was as simple as that. "Which is?"

"That you stop sending me out on stupid exercises that can only end in violence, and let me do the job _my_ way," Natasha said, iron strengthening her voice. "I get that you Americans are very much into the concept of violence being the only way to solve your problems, but you are so very stupid sometimes."

Finally, they were getting to the heart of the matter. Natasha only took that tone with him when she was honestly frustrated. "And your solution is?"

Natasha narrowed her eyes. Then her expression changed, to one of soft interest, and she shifted on the sofa so her body pressed against Phil's side, her breast firm against his arm, her thigh warm along his.

"That," she breathed, "There are other ways to achieve the mission without anyone getting hurt."

She was waiting for him to pull away, he could read in her eyes. Certainly, some of Phil's SHIELD colleagues were uncomfortable with the idea of a female agent using sex to complete a mission. But Phil had been in this world for a very long time. In some ways, he was as practical as Natasha.

"There are," he said quietly. He let Natasha run her finger down his tie before he caught her hand in his. "And I'm not going to tell you to do that."

Natasha went still. "And why not?" she asked, pulling away. 

Phil had known Natasha for a year, and he had never seen that particular expression on her face. "Because that's not what I do with my people," he said simply.

Natasha slid away, standing and grabbing her wine glass in one fluid motion. She stalked across the living room, drinking deeply. 

Phil stayed where he was.

"I don't understand you," Natasha said when she came up for air.

"SHIELD, or me?"

"You," Natasha retorted. "Why don't you use your people to the best of their abilities?"

Tired of talking in circles, Phil said, "I'm not going to tell you to have sex with someone for the sake of the mission."

"Why not?"

"Because I know what that does to a person."

"How the hell do you know that?" Natasha demanded. 

He just looked at her.

Comprehension came into Natasha's expression, then a measure of rueful amusement. She walked back over to the couch and sat at Phil's side. "I'm never going to understand you, am I?" Natasha asked.

"Probably not," Phil agreed. 

Natasha sighed, wriggling into the cushions and brushing against his side. Somehow, that small movement was more provocative than when she had pressed her breasts against him. "So you won't tell me what to do."

"No."

"What about just asking me?"

Phil took in a breath and let it out. 

"Ask me, and let me figure out what I think is best for the mission," Natasha said, lowering her voice. "Stop treating me like a child and let me make my own decisions. I'm in this line of work for a reason. And," she said, resting her hand on Phil's knee, "I am very good at my job."

"That you are." Phil reached for his glass, somehow doubting that would be her last word on the matter.

Natasha hummed under her breath. "Is this one of those situations where you require a demonstration of my skills in the field?"

Phil nearly choked on a mouthful of wine. Once he had swallowed, he set his glass down and carefully sat back. 

"That's not where I was going with this," he said. 

Natasha raised her eyebrow. "Really? Because it's where _I_ was going."

"Tasha--"

"Do you recall our conversation two minutes ago about letting me make my own decisions?" Natasha asked, running one finger down Phil's cheek. "This is one of those situations."

Phil considered her offer. From a purely practical standpoint, he would feel better about offering her certain kinds of mission if he knew _how_ she would handle them. "This isn't a requirement," he cautioned her.

Her mouth opened in a smile, wide and satisfied. "Duly noted, Agent Coulson." 

And with that, she kissed him. Her lips were soft against his, soft and gentle and very much a beginning. He let her take the lead, putting his hand on her arm.

After a minute, Natasha broke the kiss and opened her eyes. "I should point out that this is stage three."

It took him a moment to parse what she was saying. Oh yes, a demonstration of her technique in the field. "Stage three." 

She nodded, kissing him again. This time, her lips parted and her tongue brushed over his lower lip. He opened his mouth to her, tasting the wine on her lips as she deepened the kiss. Natasha slid her leg over Phil's thigh, shifting her weight so she was sitting in his lap, chest pressed against his, thighs tightening around his hips. 

Natasha said something into his mouth, and Phil reluctantly broke the kiss. "What?" he asked. 

Natasha's eyes were dark, her cheeks flushed in the lamplight. "Aren't you going to ask what stages one and two are?"

Phil wrapped his hands around Natasha's waist to keep her in place. "Only if it won't interfere with your demonstration."

Natasha smiled. "Yes, Agent Coulson."

Phil ran his hand up her back, feeling her press into the contact. "Given the situation, Agent Romanoff, it might be better if you call me Phil."

"But of course," Natasha said. She touched her lips to his cheek, kissing down his jaw line to his throat. "You see," she said in a minute, sitting up in his lap, "Stage one is the initial point of contact, in a bar or restaurant." She started to undo Phil's tie. "Just that first glance, a spark of attraction from across the room."

Phil settled his hands on her thighs and watched her face as she spoke.

"Stage two is the first contact. The target will come over to the bar for some reason, and the agent will hesitantly initiate contact." Natasha slid the fabric through the knot and let the tie hang around Phil's neck. "In order to make the target take the lead, feel in control of the situation."

She undid the top two buttons on his shirt, brushed her fingers against the small of his throat. "So where exactly does stage three begin?" Phil asked. 

Natasha kissed him, a brief brush of lips, before standing up. She caught his hands and pulled him along with her. "Stage three," she murmured, going up on her toes to kiss his throat, "Is getting the target out of the group setting and back to his room." 

"And in order to distract him from the sudden sense of vulnerability with a stranger," Phil filled in the blanks, "Physical contact becomes... necessary."

"It does," Natasha said. She stepped back. "This is the part where you take me up to your room."

"Of course," Phil said. 

He took her hand and guided her onto the landing. They made it to his bedroom without mishap. Once inside, Natasha pulled him against her and kissed him again, open-mouthed and deep. Her hands were busy on his shirt buttons, fingers brushing against his chest. 

"I'm going to feel underdressed in a minute," he murmured in her ear. 

"That's where stage four comes into play," Natasha told him. She pulled his tie off and tossed it onto the bed. "Make the target feel off-centre and needing to regain control by disrobing the agent, to make him avoid the realization that he has a compete stranger in his rooms."

"If you insist," Phil said. He slid his hands under Natasha's shirt, pulled the fabric up over her head. Her skin was pale and nearly flawless, and he ran his hands over her stomach, her back, cupping her breast through her bra.

"Feeling more in control now?" Natasha asked, pushing his shirt off his shoulders. 

"As a matter of fact, I am." Phil kissed her shoulder. "At what point does this plan of yours make it onto the bed?"

Natasha pulled away, hips swaying provocatively as she walked to the bed. She was absolutely breathtaking; eyes dark, lips red, all slender soft lines. "How about now?" she asked, sitting on the bed and undoing her hair clip. 

"I assume at this point, your target isn't too worried about a stranger being in his room," Phil said. He kicked off his shoes as he crossed the room.

Natasha shook her head solemnly. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, framing her face. 

"That's probably for the best," Phil concluded. He went down on his knees, taking her ankle in his hands. "What do you do if the target does become wary?" 

"Total female nudity solves most male qualms," Natasha said as Phil removed her left boot, then the right one. "I'd take off my pants and let things work themselves out."

Phil leaned back on his heels, and waited.

Natasha's eyes went wide. "If that's the way you want it, Agent Colson." Her voice was mocking as she reached for her waistband. Phil sat on the edge of the bed, watching Natasha undo her belt, the buttons on her jeans. She wriggled out of the trousers in a way that was both natural and captivating, nothing contrived or seductive about it. She kicked the jeans to the floor and sat up, clad only in black bra and panties. Once she was sure she had Phil's complete attention, she reached up to undo her bra. She let the black lace fall to the ground, her hands framing perfect breasts, before sliding her hands down her stomach to her panties.

Phil reached out to stop her hands. "A convincing demonstration," he said. "Point made." And because he didn't want her to misunderstand his meaning, he pushed her down onto the bed and kissed her hard. 

Skin on skin, Phil buried one hand in Natasha's hair, holding her against him as they kissed, hard and deep. After a few minutes, Natasha wrapped her leg against his, pulling him even closer. Shifting his weight so he was on top of her, Phil ran his hand up her side, cupping the curve of her breast as she rocked her hips against him. Her hands were on his back, holding him close. He ran his thumb over her nipple, hearing her moan into his mouth. 

After a minute, Natasha broke their kiss with a gasp, breathing hard. "I think we've officially reached stage five," she said. 

"The stages of your workflow are rather fluid," Phil said. He shifted his weight so he could kiss her breasts, skin soft against his lips and tongue. "They could use a little... firming up."

He circled her nipple with his tongue, heard her gasp as she arched her back. Taking that as positive performance feedback, he sucked her nipple into his mouth, then harder as she cried out. 

"You might want to consider a repetition of certain actions," Phil suggested, moving to her other breast. "Sometimes it's best to practice your process until you're certain it's been proven optimal."

"I'm sure you're very into the practice until perfect," Natasha said, biting back an exclamation as Phil closed his mouth on her breast. "Over and over until proven right?"

"Indeed, Agent Romanoff," Phil agreed. He pushed himself up, kneeing over Natasha. He took a moment to look down on her, her body nearly naked beneath him. Her arms were over her head, everything about her pose saying that all she wanted was him. He took a deep breath, trying to regain his control. "What now?"

Natasha stared up at him. It took her a moment to answer. "Decision tree. Stages six and seven can be interchangeable or skipped over completely in favor of stage eight."

"What are stages six and seven?"

Natasha sat up and slid down the bed until she was kneeling next to him. She kissed down his stomach, getting him to go up on his knees. "Stage six," she said, "is hands." 

She ran her tongue over his stomach as her hands went for his waist, undoing his belt and pants with ruthless efficiency. Dipping her tongue lower, she rolled her eyes up to look at him. 

"Do you want to guess about stage seven?" she asked, resting her cheek against his stomach.

"I've got a pretty good idea," he said, surprised his voice sounded so even. 

"Do you have a preference as to order?" Natasha asked, shifting away and helping him slide his remaining clothing down his thighs.

"I suppose that depends on that stage eight is," he said, kicking his pants to the floor. 

Natasha pulled him back onto his knees, kissing down his stomach. She took his cock in her hands, so warm on his skin that his knees nearly buckled. "Stage eight," she said with a smile, "Would be penetration."

And with that, her tongue circled the head of his cock, sliding down the underside and then up again before she slid him into her mouth.

Phil managed to keep his eyes open as Natasha slid the length of him into her mouth, taking nearly all of him before pulling back, and going down again. He put his hand on the back of her head to keep himself steady, very careful he wasn't pushing her any deeper than she wanted to go.

She came off him with a gasp and started with her tongue again, circling the head of his cock and if she kept this up... "Tasha," he said after a moment. 

She understood, because she wrapped one hand around his length and used her other hand to pull him down to her.

This kiss was deeper, harder. Phil let her push him onto his back, holding her weight on top of him easily. While she kissed him and used her hand on his cock, Phil slid her panties down her thighs. He ran one hand up her inner thigh, moaning when he reached between her legs. She was so wet and slick under his fingers, he bucked up against her hand.

Natasha broke the kiss, pulled off him to stare at him. "You seem like an upstanding citizen," she said, breathing heavily. 

"I have been told that," Phil said. He put his hand on hers, stilling her movements. "Which is why I'm going to tell you that you need to slow down if you want to successfully achieve stage eight."

She stuck out her lower lip in a pout, but she acquiesced, resting her hands on his chest. 

Phil took the hint, and slid his fingers along the length of her, exploding her wet folds with one hand while his other sought out her clit.

She moaned, bucking against him as he slid two fingers into her body at the same time he pressed down on her clit. "Very good application of the reciprocity clause in stage six, Agent Coulson."

"I've always been an overachiever," he said, watching her eyes close and her head go back as he pulled his fingers out, then pressed them back into her body. Her hips rocked against his hands as he continued to rub circles around her clit.

"Grade A effort to you," Natasha panted, moving back and forth on his fingers. "Make that two gold stars."

Her skin flushed and her movement started to get a bit shaky, as Phil slid a third finger into her. "Do you want to move onto stage eight now, Agent Romanoff?" he asked, pressing down a little harder on her clit. 

She stilled, opened her eyes to look down at him. She smiled at him. "Oh yes."

Phil slid his fingers out of her body, sitting up to take her in his lap. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, skin warm against him. "Condoms in the top drawer, left side."

Natasha turned in his lap, reaching out for the bedside table, and Phil took the opportunity to reach for her breast, playing with her nipple while Natasha grabbed a condom and sat back up in his lap. 

"Would you like me to..." he started to say, but Natasha already had the condom out and slid it over his cock. She squeezed the base of him, and it took an effort to not exclaim out loud. 

"You were saying something about stage eight?" Natasha murmured. She took his hand in hers and slid his fingers into her mouth, eyes growing even darker as she tasted herself on his skin. 

"As requested, Agent Romanoff," Phil said, taking hold of her hips and shifting her up onto her knees. 

She sank down on him, tight wet heat, and Phil groaned and buried his face in her shoulder as he rocked into her. 

Natasha whimpered, a soft sound in his ear, as she rose up and sank back down. 

Needing more, needing _everything_ , Phil held her close and rolled them so Natasha was on her back. Freer to move, he pressed her down and slid in and out, harder and harder. She rose to meet him, wrapping her legs around his waist. She moaned as he thrust into her, her hands on his shoulders and his back, fingernails digging into his skin. 

When Natasha's breathing changed, Phil hooked one of her legs over his shoulder, going up on one arm to reach between them. When his thumb found her clit, Natasha's back arched, and she let out a cry as she came, her body clenching around him.

That pushed Phil over the edge, his orgasm whiting out his vision for a moment. As he came off the edge of the orgasm, he felt Natasha reaching to still his hand.

Phil felt perfectly justified in collapsing on top of Natasha, struggling for breath as the aftershocks rolled through him. Natasha wrapped her arms around his back, not letting him move as her body clenched against, only softer this time. 

Phil stroked her hair and felt her whole body shiver. "Good?" he asked.

Natasha nodded against his neck. "Good."

Phil held on as she came down. After a few minutes, her grip on his back loosed, and she slid her legs down his side. "Do you want me to move?" he asked.

"And ruin a perfectly acceptable demonstration of stage nine?" Natasha murmured. "Don't you dare."

"Stage nine is post-coital cuddling?" Phil asked, smiling against her cheek.

She slapped his shoulder. "Calling it 'stage nine' sounds so much better on mission reports," she told him. 

Phil sighed. He didn't want to move, but reluctantly, ignoring Natasha's moan of disappointment, Phil pulled himself up and reached for a tissue to dispose of the condom.

When he rolled back onto his side, he found Natasha watching him with hooded eyes. She reached for him and settled against his body with a satisfied sigh. Her hand traced along his spine absently.

"That's the problem, isn't it?" Phil said.

"What is?"

"With seduction. The seducer is, in turn, seduced."

Natasha made a sound of agreement. "One of the hazards of the job."

"Is stage nine the last?"

"No, there's stage ten." Natasha kissed Phil's throat. "That's the information extraction period."

"And how do you propose to do that?"

Natasha shrugged, her breasts moving distractingly against his chest. "If this would have been a real mission, I'd have already drugged you so you'd have fallen asleep after sex."

Phil frowned. Suddenly, her hand drifting over his back made sense. "An anesthetic applied to the target's skin while they're already half-asleep."

"Yup."

"How long does that last?"

"'Bout half an hour. Long enough for me to search the room."

"Is that long enough?"

Natasha sighed, and sat up. She looked down at Phil with amusement. "Do you think I haven't been paying attention over the last hour?" she asked scathingly. 

Phil sat up as well, pulling Natasha into his lap. "In that case, Agent Romanoff," he said, and covered her eyes with his hand. She let him, more amused than anything. "Perhaps you'd care to share your observations."

"Willingly."

"How many curtain hooks on the curtain rod?"

Natasha pursed her lips. "Twenty eight," she said with the briefest of hesitations. 

She was correct. "What colors of clothing could you see in the closet?"

"Three white shirts, one black suit, one pair black shoes, one pair sneakers," Natasha said. "There's also something red in there, but the door is closed too far for me to make it out. Red velour track suit?"

"Name the books on my desk."

Sounding bored, she did so. Interestingly, she got the names perfectly correct, which knocked out Phil's theory that she'd done advance recon - he'd put another book at the bottom of that stack when he got home that day.

Lowering his hand, Phil let Natasha blink her way back to the room's light levels. "Interesting," he said. 

Natasha touched his cheek. "I've never had a man say that after sex," she said, then kissed him again. 

"You need to get out more," Phil said against her mouth. She laughed. When she pulled away, he checked the time on the clock. "Care to convince me?"

The laughter died on her lips. "What do you mean?" she demanded.

"How long do they stay drugged for?"

"Usually half an hour, why?"

Phil lay back on the bed, propping his head up against the pillow. "There's an envelope hidden in this room, containing something I value. Find it."

Natasha stared at him for a moment, then her eyes narrowed. 

"Stage ten," he reminded her.

Growling, Natasha slid off the bed, barely a movement to note her absence. She searched the room in total silence, her naked state not impeding the speed of her search.

Phil watched her move around the room, her hands flying as she moved objects and tested the arrangement of furniture. "Twenty minutes."

Natasha ignored him. In another two minutes, she had discovered the safe incorporated behind the mirror. Her hands hesitated over the dial, then she slowly swung the mirror back into place. She looked at Phil's reflection for a long moment.

"What?"

"I always do mission recon," she said slowly, turning around. "And I've known you for a year."

Phil stayed silent.

"The thing is," she went on, "I know you. Not all of you, but maybe enough."

He spread his hands in invitation.

Natasha walked past the desk, over to the dresser. She didn't look in the drawers, or even the underside of the drawers. Instead, she laid down on the floor and reached _beneath_ the dresser. 

In a moment she was back on her feet, a long manila envelope in her hand.

Phil let himself smile. "Well done, Agent Romanoff."

Natasha walked back to the bed, tossing the envelope onto the sheets and sliding under the blanket beside Coulson. "I told you that I was good at this."

Phil kissed the tip of her nose, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Consider this official verification of your field readiness."

Natasha let her hand rest on Phil's stomach. "What's in the envelope?" she asked after a few minutes. 

Phil played with a lock of Natasha's hair. "A full set of Captain America trading cards," he lied. "Vintage."

Natasha nodded, letting him have the lie for now. 

After a few minutes of contented silence, Natasha slowly sat up. "I should go."

"If you want."

Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him. "Do you have any other suggestions?"

Phil shrugged. "I thought, perhaps, I might seek a bit of clarification about stage seven of your workflow plan."

"Stage seven," Natasha repeated. 

"Yes. Specifically, around the reciprocity clause."

"Hmm." Natasha went up on her knees to straddle Phil's hips. "Reciprocity in stage seven is always a contentious issue."

"That," Phil said, putting his hands on Natasha's waist, "Simply won't do. Allow me to demonstrate."

And he did so.


End file.
